Home Sweet Home

The SU and I are heading to our hometown of Buffalo, NY for four days. It's about a 9 hour drive but it's worth it. It's always nice to go home and see family and friends, play some games, drink some beer and, most importantly, eat Buffalo food. Wings, pizza, chicken finger subs, beer-battered haddock fish fries... Buffalo is not the place to go if you plan to lose weight. I do not plan to lose weight while I'm there. I plan to cram as many wings into my tummy as possible. And that my friends is a disturbingly large number.

To anyone who ever goes to Buffalo: you must eat wings while you're there for they are a gift from the heavens. The greasy, spicy and sometimes bar-b-cue heavens. And when you do, don't say, "I'd like some chicken wings." They are wings. The chicken part is implied. Never, EVER say Buffalo wings. That's just wrong and may result in a beating. And for god's sake use bleu cheese dressing. This ranch dressing thing that people in the midwest insist should go on everything is an abomination of all that is good and tasty. Amen.

Here's an odd thing: I hate going to work. That's not the odd part. The odd part is that I have a hard time leaving it when we go on vacation. I always stress out that I haven't left enough things prepared so everything will go smoothly when I'm gone. I also worry about the mess I'll walk into when I return. I do the purchasing/shipping/receiving/inventory control for a small computer store and repair center. I don't know all that much about computers but I do know how to get inventory here quickly and for as little money as possible all while keeping track of how much of it there is. There's a delicate balance in my world of inventory between keeping enough things on the shelf so we're ready for most situations but not so much stuff that we get stuck with out of date products. This is even harder when I'm not going to be here. I'm up at night worrying about it sometimes. Really, I am. It's a good thing I don't like working because if this was something I hoped to do for the rest of my life I'd die of stress by the time I turned 40. It's bad enough that I'll be lucky to make it to 50 due to various other lifestyle choices.

If I can I'll post something from the city of my birth so both of the Phollower Phaithful can keep abreast of my situation. I said "a breast". But for now I need to get back to work in an attempt to convince myself that all will be well for the 2 1/2 days that I'm not here. Fat chance.